The Vanishing Tribe

by Alex Archer

She and Nagamush could catch Porter if he was on foot. If Porter had managed to find transportation, it was a different story, but for now he was traveling in exactly the same manner as she was. Her best bet was to figure out where he was going and then beat him there.

  If anyone could take her through these canyons, it would be Nagamush.

  The question was where was Porter headed?

  When the answer came to her, she wanted to smack herself for missing the obvious. How could she have forgotten about that?

  Kneeling in front of her companion, she gripped his shoulders and shook him gently until he acknowledged her presence.

  “This isn’t over yet,” she told him, shaking her head. “We’re still going to catch this bastard and return the Heartstone to your people.”

  She pointed first to herself and then to Nagamush. She tipped her hand upside down and with two fingers pantomimed the two of them walking. She then pointed to where she had abandoned the crippled SUV and where she hoped the other vehicles still remained.

  If they could only beat Porter there.

  She pulled a reluctant Nagamush to his feet and the two of them set off to retrace the path Annja had taken before capture by the Sho.

  The trek proved to be more difficult than she’d hoped. Nagamush was able to return them to the canyon where his people had first encountered her without difficulty, but knowing where to go after that proved hard to explain. After several frustrating attempts Annja sat on the ground and drew a picture of an SUV in the dirt. She then pantomimed her driving it, steering left and right and then pointing at the drawing.

  Something she said or did finally clicked. Nagamush leaped to his feet, pointing out a particular path and dragging her along.

  Annja acquiesced to his lead.

  It was another hour’s hike before they emerged from a canyon a short distance from the wreckage of her SUV. It was in sorry shape. Annja knew there was no way they were getting the thing to start, never mind travel all the way back to Maun in it.

  The other vehicles were gone.

  Just to be sure, they crossed the old riverbed and searched the bank above it. They found plenty of tracks where the vehicles had been previously parked and Annja knew that this time they really were too late.

  Porter had beaten them to the punch.

  Annja was staring at the ground, wondering what to do next, when Nagamush nudged her arm and pointed.

  A few hundred yards away a beat-up pickup truck pulled out from behind a large pile of boulders and slowly drove toward them.

  Annja tensed, ready to call her sword. Please don’t let them have guns.

  The driver’s door opened as soon as the truck rolled to a stop and out stepped Dr. Henry Crane, a wide smile on his face.

  Annja gave a shout and hustled forward, wrapping the older man in a hug. She was overwhelmed with relief. He had survived his ordeal in the desert when they’d been forced to split up and he was here now, with a means to get them back to civilization. She only wished he’d brought more help.

  “You are a sight for sore eyes, Henry!”

  He chuckled. “I can say the same for you. I’ve been waiting out here all night, worried sick. Then Porter and his mercenaries came blundering out of the canyon and I thought for sure you were in trouble.”

  “How long, Henry?” she asked urgently. “How long since you saw Porter?”

  “Half an hour. Forty-five minutes, maybe.” He glanced around nervously, as if expecting the other man to come charging out from behind a rock.

  Forty-five minutes. It was a bigger lead than she’d hoped, but not insurmountable. If they hurried.

  She grabbed Henry’s arm and pushed him toward the truck. “We have to go. I’ll explain while I drive.”

  Turning to Nagamush, she pointed at him and then at the truck. The implication was clear. Get in.

  But Nagamush shook his head. He pointed back the way they had come and said something she couldn’t understand.

  Thankfully Henry could.

  “He’s saying he needs to return to...!Ksanna, is it? To help the injured.”

  Annja didn’t even have to think about it. “Good. That’s good. Tell him I’ll find the Heartstone and return it to his people. Tell him I promise. I won’t give up until it’s returned to them.”

  Henry did but then frowned at the response he got.

  “What?” Annja asked.

  “He says thank-you, but it’s already too late. The wheel has turned and the Sho must go with it. Annja, what is he talking about?”

  Too late? Not on her watch.

  “I’ll explain as we drive. Get in!”

  Turning to Nagamush, she said, “I will come back. I promise you. And I’ll have the Heartstone with me when I do.”

  The Sho warrior smiled sadly.

  Annja jumped in behind the wheel and fired up the truck’s engine. She nodded once to Nagamush, then turned the vehicle around and went north in pursuit of Porter.

  She glanced back in the rearview mirror to see Nagamush standing where they had left him, watching them.

  It was the last time she would lay eyes on the Sho warrior.

  44

  As they drove, Henry filled her in on what had happened to him. After separating from Annja in the wake of his escape from Porter, he found a small cave to hide in. He waited until dark and then tried to make his way back to where the trucks were waiting.

  Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he lost his way in the dark and wound up traveling in the complete opposite direction he should have been going in. After walking for several hours, he stumbled on a group of French zoologists who were studying the social behavior of the aardwolf. They were just getting ready to return to their home base in Maun, so Henry hitched a ride with them out of the wilderness. They dropped him at his compound on their way north.

  After calling the local authorities on his satellite phone—they gave him such a bureaucratic runaround, he had no faith they’d ever come out to investigate—he’d borrowed his foreman’s pickup truck since his own vehicle was still out in the desert where Porter had forced him to abandon it, and then he returned to try to find Annja. He hadn’t wanted to put any of his staff in danger, so he’d chosen to come alone.

  Afraid that Porter might return and find him, he hid the truck in a small canyon. He’d been lying in the shade of some boulders, watching the SUVs, when he’d seen their enemy come stumbling up the riverbed. Henry stayed in place, waiting for them to leave, and then resumed his watch for Annja. He’d been about to give up and return to base when she’d walked out of the canyon with Nagamush in tow.

  When Henry was finished, Annja returned the favor, relating all that had happened to her after she’d led Porter astray. Henry was amazed by her tale, especially the part where she told him that she had found his friend Robert living among the Sho. Except that he’d been gunned down by his own miserable excuse for a son.

  “We have to get back to the authorities with this!” Henry exclaimed when Annja was finished. “With your testimony, they’ll act. We could have Porter arrested for murder and—”

  “Do you really think the authorities will move against Porter? Given the kind of individual he is, do you think he doesn’t have them in his pocket already?”

  Henry visibly deflated. “You’re right,” he said. “Their response when I called them about my own kidnapping proves it. So what can we do? We can’t just let him get away with this.”

  “Trust me, I have no intention of letting him get away with anything.”

  * * *

  ANNJA BORROWED HENRY’S satellite phone and stepped out onto the deck for some privacy. She dialed a number from memory and waited for it to be picked up.

  One...two...three...

  “Yes, Annja?”

  Garin Braden’s voice was deep, sexy, with just a hint of the devilish attitude that constantly had her second-guessing how she felt about him. There was no denying he was a handsome man—tall, broad shouldered, with an imma
culately trimmed goatee and long dark hair—but all Garin seemed to care about was himself. His selfish focus on his own wants and desires drove her crazy.

  “Hello, Garin,” she said coolly. How in heaven’s name had he known it was her?

  “Have you finally decided to give up the sword and live a life of luxury with me?”

  Annja laughed. “Fat chance.”

  Garin was one of two people, not counting herself, who knew about the sword. As well he should, since he had been there on the day Joan of Arc had died, had seen the sword shattered into dozens of pieces by an English soldier, the same sword that Annja now carried whole. Somehow Garin and his mentor, Roux, the man charged with protecting Joan, had been transformed by the sundering of the blade. They had lived and quarreled off and on for the better of five hundred years since, only coming to an uneasy truce when the blade had been mystically re-formed in Annja’s presence.

  Garin and Roux believed the sword was responsible for their extended life spans and they kept tabs on Annja at every opportunity.

  Garin grunted at her reply. “Well, then, I guess we don’t have anything further to discuss. Good day, Annja.”

  “Wait! Please.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “You are being polite, Annja. Is something wrong?”

  You don’t know me that well.

  “I need your help.”

  “I am always happy to be at your service.”

  She explained what she needed and why.

  “And what do I get out of it?” he asked.

  Same old Garin.

  “You may have the pleasure of taking me out for dinner.”

  She regretted the use of the word pleasure the second it left her mouth. Garin was a true sybarite, with a love for luxury and women that apparently knew no bounds.

  “Last time I took you out we nearly got killed.”

  “What’s life without a little adventure?” she asked.

  “Adventure indeed,” he growled with a laugh. “We’ll see how much adventure you can take. Give me a few hours to arrange what you need.”

  With that, he hung up.

  She could handle dinner with Garin if it meant she’d have the resources she needed to recover the Heartstone from Porter.

  * * *

  THREE HOURS LATER, as dusk was settling over the old mission, Annja and Henry were finishing up a meal in the kitchen when the sound of an approaching helicopter reached their ears. Henry looked worried, but Annja laid a hand on his arm reassuringly.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “They’re friendlies.”

  She went outside to greet their visitors.

  The chopper circled the property once and then set down inside the fence line. It was black, which might have made it hard to pick out in this light if it wasn’t for the bright gold logo of a dragon in flight painted on the side. That was the corporate logo for DragonTech Security, one of the high-tech defense and protection companies Garin owned and ran. She knew from experience that her backup would be well trained and well armed, which was just what she needed for the expedition she had in mind for later that evening.

  Before the rotors had stopped spinning the passenger door opened and a medium-size black man with a shaved head and wraparound sunglasses climbed out. He was dressed in a set of dark fatigues and combat boots. He ducked beneath the rotors and hurried over to her side.

  Annja nodded at him. “Mr. Griggs.”

  He nodded back, all nice and civilized. “Ms. Creed.”

  “Shall we go inside where we can talk?”

  The hint of a smile crossed Griggs’s smooth-shaven face. “As my employer is wont to say, I am at your service.”

  The planning didn’t take long. Griggs had arrived with detailed layouts of Porter’s compound, including real-time satellite photos from less than an hour earlier, courtesy of Garin’s connections in the aerospace industry. They used those to map out general scenarios that they would follow once on-site.

  They spent some time discussing what they would do if problems arose, knowing that no plan ever fully survives contact with the enemy. Porter would not be expecting them and that would certainly play well in their favor, but there was no doubt that something would go sideways at some point in the mission—Murphy’s Law and all that—so they wanted to have a few fallback ideas.

  When they felt they had exhausted all the obvious possibilities, they moved to get the mission under way.

  Annja pulled Henry aside. “If something goes wrong, I want you to call this man,” she said, handing him Doug Morrell’s card. “Tell him everything that’s happened. He’s the producer of the cable television show I work for and will have the connections to expose Porter and make him pay for what he’s done.”

  Henry looked confused. “Why aren’t we just taking the information to him now, then? Why the rest of this nonsense?” he asked, pointing at the Griggs and the helicopter waiting outside.

  “If we bring in the media, the Sho will never be the same. They’ll be invaded by every jackass with a camera. Is that what you want for them?”

  Henry shook his head.

  She patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. You probably won’t even need the card. It’s just in case. Understood?”

  The older man nodded. “Understood.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  45

  The flight from the old Dutch mission to Maun didn’t take long. Griggs kept at a steady altitude and speed—just another corporate chopper ferrying suits from a business meeting somewhere—and only seemed to wake up when they drew closer to their destination.

  Porter’s compound was on the outskirts of Maun—a sprawling three-story home, a swimming pool and several outbuildings surrounded by a six-foot wall of solid concrete. There was a guard gate at the entrance to the drive and, according to the information they’d been given, foot patrols that covered the grounds at regular intervals. Annja didn’t care if Porter had brought in the entire French Foreign Legion to guard his place, she was going in and not coming out again until she had the diamond.

  “Coming up on nine-thirty at my mark...five, four, three, two, one, mark,” Griggs said, and Annja synchronized her watch to match his.

  Griggs took the chopper in a wide arc around the compound and then brought it down to hover a few feet above the ground in a clearing they had previously picked out. Annja stood by the rear door, waiting for his signal.

  “Once you’re in you’ve got ten minutes,” he reminded her.

  She nodded. If she was inside any longer, something had gone wrong. At that point she was on her own.

  She gave Griggs the thumbs-up, then slid the door open and jumped out.

  Even though it was only a few feet she rolled with the impact, not wanting to end up with a twisted ankle at this stage of the game. She climbed to her feet, noting as she did that Griggs was already on the move, the helicopter climbing into the sky above her. It was lost in the darkness moments later.

  Annja looked for and found the lights to Porter’s compound in the distance and then headed out at a brisk pace.

  * * *

  MALCOLM PORTER SAT in his study and stared at the diamond on his desk.

  After leaving the city behind, he and his men had made their way back through the maze of canyons to where they’d left the vehicles. They’d dumped extra gear to make room for Hawser’s men and then gone straight back to the compound in Maun. Bryant had paid the mercenaries what was owed them and then sent them on their way, while Porter had the wound on his face properly dressed by his staff doctor. When his injuries had been cleaned, stitched and bandaged, Porter had retired to his study to sit and stare in fascinated wonder at the massive gemstone in front of him.

  Over all, the expedition had been a stunning success. Not only had they managed to locate the Lost City, but they’d come home with one hell of a prize. Even better, he’d finally had the chance to put that bumbling excuse for a father in his place.


  Remembering the look on his father’s face when he realized he’d been shot brought a burst of laughter from Porter’s lips, and he held up his glass of Scotch in salute. “Here’s to you, Dad,” he said. “I hope you rot in hell.”

  Yes, it had indeed been a successful expedition.

  Except for that Creed woman.

  Porter grimaced. Who would have thought one woman could cause so many problems? She was a cable TV host, for God’s sake.

  He should have killed her when he had the chance. Just gunned her down in that hotel of hers and taken the map. Would have saved him considerable frustration. Never mind this gaping knife wound in his face.

  Where had that sword come from, anyway? One minute she was empty-handed, the next she’d been swinging a freaking five-foot piece of steel at his face.

  He shook his head. If Creed showed her face again he’d kill her.

  Porter got up to refill his glass and that’s when the first explosion shook the house.

  * * *

  ANNJA WAS CROUCHED in the shadow of the compound’s security wall, waiting for Griggs’s signal. She took a pair of thick leather gloves and a set of nylon knee pads out of the backpack she was wearing and put them on.

  A glance at her watch showed her she had thirty seconds left.

  Stepping out of the shadows, she moved back ten feet from the wall and got into position, counting down in her head.

  Six...

  Five...

  Four...

  Three...

  Two...

  She started running as the final second ticked down.

  One...

  The missile Griggs fired at the guardhouse in front of Porter’s estate struck with a thunderous roar, lighting up the sky with flames of red and orange.

  Annja ran for the wall, put one foot against it and pushed up in a single smooth motion. Her hands easily cleared the top and she grabbed hold, the thick gloves protecting her from the broken glass seeded along the top. She boosted herself up and over, landing gently on her feet on the other side.

  She stopped. Waited.

  The guards were most likely responding to Griggs’s decoy attack out front, but she wanted to be sure. When she didn’t hear or see anyone, she crossed the yard to the back of the house. According to the plans, she should be standing beneath the third-floor balcony, and when she looked up it was right where it was supposed to be.